The Martian
by Prime627
Summary: /Crossover with Transformers and the move The Martian\\ Smokescreen gets left on Mars with a limited amount of food and water and a world of creativity. He also has this thing about dying. He doens't want to. He just wants to get home. (Minor language, because I was playing Mappy and had a little episode, making "you little shit" my new insult)
1. Chapter 1

Optimus walked around their new base, checking out the little area of manuals and books that Smokescreen and Ultra Magnus had constructed to form a safe haven for Optimus. Chuckling, Optimus wandered into the kitchen to see about a snack. The others were outside, he knew, performing their duties. He pulled down a package of jelly beans and he opened them, walking to where Ratchet was sitting.

"What are the others doing?" He selected a jelly bean, biting it in half. He chewed it thoughtfully.

"Arcee is monitoring the weather, Bumblebee is making sure our emergency rocket is in functioning order, Ultra Magnus is taking Rover Two out for a drive and Smokescreen is gathering soil samples."

"It is a good thing, I suppose. It keeps him busy," Optimus said, referring to Smokescreen. "Open up the radio chatter."

 _...found some fine grains of soil for NASA to analyze when we get back. It's fine, as previously stated, so Chem Lab should be happy._

 _Hold everything. Smokescreen has discovered dirt._

Laughter filled the comms.

 _Oh, yeah, Bumblebee? And what are you doing?_

 _Making sure our one-way ticket is still upright, and guess what everyone. It's upright._

More laughter, and then Arcee stepped in.

 _You know, Smokescreen, I hate it when you open up the comms, because as soon as you say something, Bee's got to step in with his smart mouth._

Optimus, on a whim, pressed a button and spoke into the comm on his side. He chuckled, _I beg of Arcee to find a different word to describe Bumblebee's mouth._

The comms exploded with _oooh_ 's and laughter. Bumblebee inserted a smart remark, but it was swallowed up in the laughter.

 _By the way, who even opened these comms?_ Ultra Magnus laughed over the comm, and Optimus pictured his friend steering the Rover Two back to base, as it was his job to take it out and scope out their little base's territory. It resembled a patrol, but they weren't securing their territory from invaders. They were checking for anything out of the ordinary, like weather Arcee could have missed and anything that blew into the area that could be used and later reported. Also, there was a restricted area that people had been warned to avoid and he was checking if it had indeed been left alone since Smokescreen has problems with authority.

 _Smokescreen_ , everyone chimed.

Ultra Magnus chuckled again. _Smokescreen, turn off your comm and save everyone from your voice._

Ratchet spoke into his own comm. _I can turn the public comm off from here, Ultra Magnus._

 _Do it._

Smokescreen made a feeble attempt to deny it, but it was too late. Ratchet had turned off the public comm.

Optimus patted the back of his friend's chair the moment an alarm blared. "What is happening?"

Ratchet leaned forward as Arcee's voice floated over.

 _I'm seeing a storm. It's ugly_.

Ratchet looked at Optimus. "I saw the storm report this morning. It was suppose to be bad, but it looks worse."

"Get everyone inside."

 **ooo**

Once everyone was inside, Arcee analyzed the results. "It's going to be worse than Unicron coming down to stomp us. We have to go. Now."

Optimus nodded and he looked at the ones gathered. Bumblebee had been released early to prep the rocket. "Even though we were supposed to be here for thirty-one days, we have to leave day eighteen. Let's roll."

Suits and helmets on and secured, the team walked out. "Limited visability. Stay close," Optimus ordered. He kept close to Arcee, since she was smaller and thinner and could easily be swept away. He was sure that Bumblebee, Smokescreen, and Ratchet could hold their own. Ultra Magnus just plowed through the storm, proving that even though his disability weakened him, it didn't take the large dent out of his strength that Ratchet had expected.

Optimus had been sheltering Arcee when he heard the screech of metal. He shoved Arcee down and got over her to protect her. At his sudden drop to the ground, Ratchet did the same. Ultra Magnus still plowed through, Bumblebee shrieking a warning and running after him. But the metallic shriek was behind him, as was Smokescreen, who, without having enough time to react, was struck with a large metal piece. Optimus cursed and got to his feet.

"Where is he? Check his bio sig."

Ratchet tapped a few commands into the little screen on his forearm. "He doesn't have one. It's gone."

Optimus growled and turned in a circle, hoping to see the mech come out of the storm and into view. There was nothing. "How long will he live in the pressure if his suit is punctured?"

"It is most likely it is, and that will give him less than a minute."

"Gah!" Optimus looked around more, shuffling his feet. "Watch the ground. We don't want to trip over him."

Bumblebee commed to them. "Come on, guys. The rocket is tipping! There's no more time. You have to come aboard."

Optimus kept up the search for several more beats before Ultra Magnus barked at him to keep his feet moving. The mech grabbed the unwilling Prime by the suit and jerked him towards the ship. Optimus wailed weakly. He hated being jerked around by his older brother, but he knew that Ultra Magnus didn't want to be left behind due to the stubbornness of his captain.

Safely onboard, they launched and met up with the ship that was to take them on the ten-month journey back to Earth. But all the while, Optimus felt like he was leaving behind someone still functioning and crying for them to come back.

 **ooo**

The storm swept the red earth into mounds, concealing everything from equipment to metal pieces as big as Ultra Magnus to half of the Rover the mech had parked to charge. And, due to its engineering and structure, it had fully charged and was ready to roll. But if only it had a driver...

The silence was broken by a sharp voice. _Oxygen level: 2%_.

The body it was snapping to groaned and a head lifted out of the earth. The helmet was still secure, and the only pucture to be seen was in his abdomen.

Smokescreen slowly got to his feet, whimpering and groaning. A sharp piece of metal that looked like a sewing needle Unicron might use to darn his socks jutted out of him, the pointy end deep in his flesh and possibly poking some organ he would need later. And through the other end was a thick cable connected to a dish used to keep in touch with NASA. Smokescreen cut the cord and touched the needle, giving it a little wiggle. The sharp pain made him gasp, but he knew now that it was just really, really uncomfortable, and not poking an organ or causing any problem except inviting infection and making a bothersome task out of breathing and walking back to base.

Once inside, he guided himself out of his suit to expose his core and cut off his shirt. Then he walked to Ratchet's lab. He had several tools for conducting surgeries, as if the mad scientist of a man would expect Arcee to drop to the ground and end up needing three open-spark surgeries. He grabbed all the tools he could hold in his hands and he walked to a chair. He leaned all the way back, staring at the darn needle in his gut. He wrapped his hand around it and he pulled it out, squeaking and whimpering. Blood trickled out of the wound and he trembled, grabbing a tool that Ratchet had warned him not to stab in his eye (as if he had a habit of stabbing foreign objects into his eyes) as it would leave a tiny hole in it and also numb the area. He stabbed it repeatedly at his belly around the puncture and he dabbed at the wound again. He shifted and he looked at the metal piece, frowning. A piece was missing off the tip, and he feared it was in his belly.

Using the tools he had grabbed, he parted the wound and went at the metal piece still inside him with Arcee's tweezers. He pulled it out and groaned, laying his head back in relief. No more would he have to play surgeon. "Time to finish the job," he mumbled, and he grabbed what looked like a stapler that got mangled by Bulkhead. He stapled the wound closed and he sighed again, falling limp in the chair. What he would give to never move again. But he had things to do...

He took stock of the food he had, discovering more jelly beans that Optimus had favored, and they were the delicious Jelly Belly ones. He devored a few, discovering that marshmallow and popcorn didn't taste as good as he had first assumed. He vowed to never try it again.

After making stock of the meals he had and knowing he could make greater cuts if he needed, he flipped through his friends' possessions, hoping one of them brought their own food for comfort. He scored with Optimus and pulled out the two boxes of marshmallow chicks typically found around Easter. He chuckled and stored them with the other dessert foods.

He sat down in front of his laptop and accessed the video diaries he was supposed to keep. He started recording today's.

"Surprise!" He waved his hands a little, grinning. "I'm still alive. You little shits left me here to die. I hope you're happy. No more will I bother you." He lost his smile and he looked away. "I, uh, guess it's a surprise that I'm still alive. I mean, if Arcee got hit with the same piece, I'd wonder how she could have survived." He lifted the metal piece. "Unicron's darning needle punctured my suit through my bio sig transmitter, so you guys probably thought I was dead...and I didn't die from the pressure, because I was smart and kept the needle in. The blood clogged the hole, too, which was...as it was supposed to, I guess...to clot and keep out infection. So...I guess I'm going to chill on Mars until you guys either come back for me or until I run out of food and die. Thanks, guys. I know who my friends are. Smokescreen signing off."

He turned off his laptop and he laid down in his bunk, staring at the bottom of the top bunk. He got up and peeked in at Optimus', seeing a ragged teddy bear. He grabbed it and laid down to sleep with it, wondering if Optimus was missing it more than him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Sol 19**

Smokescreen prepared breakfast, Optimus' teddy propped up in front of him. He microwaved a piece of bread with a lump of butter smeared on it at a level which would render the bread into toast, no toaster needed. A single egg boiled in a little pot Arcee insisted on getting and bringing with. Smokescreen grabbed the teddy and held it as he took the toast out of the microwave and he ate it. He walked to his laptop to begin a video entry.

He held up the teddy. "Look what I found. Who knew Optimus had a soft spot for stuffed animals? Well, I think he's cute, but of course he's a little battered. How long have you had this little guy, Prime?" He set the bear aside and he sighed softly. "So, I've been thinking. I'm going to eventually run out of food if all goes well. If the machine that makes water via some strange science magic Ratchet didn't explain to me goes out, I'll die from dehydration, and if the oxygen pump-thing breaks, I'll suffocate. Assuming all goes well and Primus has a sense of humor, I should last a grand total of four hundred and something sols now that you guys are all gone and not eating like hogs. That's four hundred days for you playing at home." He steepled his fingers and rested them against his face, thinking. "So, somehow, I have to grow food. But planting Prime's Jelly Bellies isn't going to do anything useful. I need something raw." His eyes lifted to the laptop and he dropped his hands. "For now, I'm going to explore. Couldn't do that while you aft ports were here." He turned off the laptop and he lifted the bear off the counter. He carried it back to his bunk and he laid it on his pillow.

 **ooo**

The controls of the Rover handled smoothly, as it should since Ultra Magnus was the one normally driving and he only had one hand. Smokescreen did a little territory sweep, small shivers racking him. The sun had set. He didn't dare turn on the heat. Optimus had noted that turning on the heat resulted in the battery life being cut in half, and he had an hour left. He was more than a half of an hour away from base. He turned to the camera staring at him, which made logs whenever the Rover was started. He spoke to it, thinking outloud.

"So, Mar's isn't Florida." He exhaled, his breath a small puff of a cloud before it faded away. "But I think I have a remedy. I'll have to turn around and head back to base, as well as shower and get my temperature back up. I would love to move, but my hands are fragging frozen." He rubbed his cold hands together and blew on them, then grabbed the controls and directed in towards base.

Once inside, he showered with hot water, used the bathroom, and padded towards the kitchen, rumaging through more cupboards for a pan. Instead, he found a box with the label _Don't touch till Thanksgiving! :)_

He defied the plea and he opened it. He ran to his laptop with his discovery.

"Raw potatoes. Whoever brought these onboard, when I see you, I'm kissing you. Even if you're Bee. You guys just saved me. I knew you had a little sympathy for me, even if I annoyed you." He smiled down at the bag of twelve potatoes. "This'll be so much easier than planting jelly beans."

 **ooo**

Optimus laid on his belly, squeezing his eyes shut. Ratchet watched him. They had met up with Hermes, a ship that was orbitting Mars with the idea that when it was time to leave, the team would launch via the escape rocket and connect with the larger ship for the five hundred sol journey home. But they were a team minus one. Optimus couldn't stop thinking about Smokescreen.

"I have failed," the Prime whispered. He reached out and poked the bear Ratchet had found while rumaging around, but this bear wasn't the same as his original. This one was firm, fresh, and smelled like plastic. The other was soft, falling apart, leaking stuffing, and above all, his. It even bore his scent.

"Optimus," Ratchet sighed. "You have not failed. You did all you could do."

"Smokescreen is dead," he snapped. His blue eyes studied Ratchet, his face melting into a frown. "I killed him."

"You did what you thought was right."

"If Ultra Magnus had taken Arcee, I could have been with Smokescreen and I could have pushed him down...but I was too worried about a femme that did not even need my help."

"Optimus, you can't stop thinking like this. Casualties happen!"

He rolled over and hugged his pillow. He hated this pillow, too. It wasn't like the other one. He punched it and got to his feet. "I am going for a run..."

Ratchet knew that the Prime would probably feel better after getting his frustrations out on the treadmill. Arcee did the same most days, forcing herself to give that extra mile (or ten). He let his leader go, hoping that the Prime knew self-control and knew when his body couldn't give anymore. "You did all you could, Prime. No one blames you..."

"I blame myself." Optimus rubbed his mouth, pausing in the doorway. "He's probably dying...alone...scared...hungry."

 **ooo**

 **Sol 20**

"I'm dying!" Smokescreen screamed over the music as he stepped out of the shower. The laptop was recording. "I'm so scared and alone right now! Nobody knows how I feel! I'm also hungry." He paused the music with the little remote by the laptop. "That, ladies and germs, was a song on Arcee's laptop. It's all Red, all the time. All screaming or instrumentals. I'm going to die if that's all she has." He walked to her laptop and carried it back. "Oh, no, wait. I have some Casting Crowns." He clicked on the one called Set Me Free and he threw his head back. "So depressing...it's even in a folder called Uplifting Music for the Soul. This is awful! Arcee! I knew you hated me!"

He closed her laptop and walked towards the folded clothes he left for himself. Since there was a high probability he was going to die and these videos wouldn't get out to the public, he wasn't worried about anything. He dressed in front of the camera as he spoke, sliding jeans on over his legs. He buttoned them. "So, I have an idea. I'll cut the little potatoes in half or so, start my own little indoor garden...plant them..." He put on one of Optimus' tees that had the words _Jurassic World_ across the front. "Really, Prime?" He rolled his eyes, chuckling. "Anyway, I just need fertilizer, and NASA had this excellent idea to individually wrap our human wastes for my convenience. Let's see who smells the worst."

After making sure that the human waste was stored within reach (hurray, it was) and after rendering Optimus' library into his indoor garden with tubs and tubs of Martian earth. He spread the dirt over tarp he laid out and hung from the ceiling, then he lightly made trenches in the earth with his hands. He rubbed his dirty hands on his pants, then set up his work table.

He cut open the pouches of waste, then dumped them into a bucket. When it was half full and he couldn't stand anymore, he poured water down on top of it and stirred the foul mixture until his arms ached.

Scooping the horrid tar was the worst. He sacrificed a dipping spoon and labelled it so he wouldn't be a fool and use it. Ever. He made little piles, buried them slightly, then stuck a quarter of a potato into it. He buried it fully, making a little mound. He continued until he ran out of potatoes.

"The real problem is water," he told the camera, carving up a wooden cross that belonged to Arcee. It was a pendant to a necklace, and he made sure she would get it back. It was recognizable, but the bottom part of the cross, instead of squared, was now pointed due to him shaving it. "I don't have enough to both drink, thus stay alive for a couple hundred days, _and_ farm in my own crap, but I have a plan. NASA has this thing about fire, since it means death and all, so everything is fire resistant. Everything, except Arcee's necklace." He showed the cross pendant to the laptop that had become a sort of friend. "Which is being used as an experiment. I saw Ratchet do this kind of thing before, make water out of fuel using fire and a chemical I happen to have sitting a few miles away. The Rover is begging to be let out anyway, so..." He set the knife down. "And I know Arcee won't mind, because if she knew the position I was in after she left me here to die..." He trailed off, looking over at Prime's teddy. He smiled. "She'd smile and nod and let me murder her necklace. But I won't touch Prime's library yet. I need some reading material."

 **ooo**

Ratchet, the great man he is, had a sketchbook of all his ideas and inventions, including a way to make water using chemicals and fire. NASA wouldn't be tickled about this idea, but they couldn't condone him dying on their watch, either. So Smokescreen, sketchbook in hand, followed its instructions. He made a drip of fuel using a hose and a tank of the rocket fuel from the secondary rocket that was reserved for the Mars mission that would land in six years (he knew they wouldn't mind, and it wasn't like anyone could stop him, either). He laid out solid silver lumps of... Smokescreen turned the sketchbook upside down and scowled. He couldn't read his writing. Well, since it was the only box of solid silver lumps they owned, it had to be right. And if it wasn't, well...he'd write a friendly letter for Ratchet to read about handwriting techniques. "Jeez, medic. You write like a doctor."

The last step was to light the fire and set it on top of the gizmo he had somehow created. He didn't understand the science, but the title of the sketch ("WATER MAKER") made him feel optimistic, and the instructions were written in a language he could understand. He just omitted a lot of things because of the weird sentence structure, which he would probably regret, but the idea of farming got him excited. And he would have water! The fire took; the two hot wires rubbing together gave birth to sparks that landed on Arcee's cross-shavings, which eagerly accepted the baby fire and made it grow into something more. He slowly lifted the wire tray he had crafted for it and put it on top of the machine. So far so good... He gave a shout of excitement when it didn't explode in his face, but he just invited disaster.

It exploded as if to spite him.

 **ooo**

Smokescreen settled in front of the laptop computer, his flesh burned and his hair sporting shards of the silver lumps that went flying. He reeked of fuel and he sighed, rubbing his neck. "Well...that could have gone worse..." He flicked the shards out of his hair. "So, it exploded. Because I'm an idiot. Probably shouldn't have omitted these special instructions. If you take all the science crap out of it, it says, basically, _do not exhale excessively._ " He snapped the sketchbook closed. "Now...I'm going to try again...once my ears stop ringing."

 **ooo**

Take two involved him wearing his helmet and a metal disc that had been a satellite being used as a shield. He redid everything, restarted the fire, and then placed it where it was supposed to go. It took, and for several long minutes it did nothing. The flame flickered, the fuel dropped onto the silver rocks with an annoyed hissing sound, but nothing happened. And it didn't explode. Smokescreen decided to make lunch while it decided what to do.

A shower and a macaroni lunch later, the tarps on the inside of the garden facing the machine were wet with water. He ran his hand down the wet tarps and smiled. The earth darkened, starting near the edges and working towards the middle. He celebrated with a little dance and he laughed softly. Ratchet's crazy invention that he had spent hours yakking about worked. _Wait till I tell him..._

He stopped, mood dampened. "If," he corrected softly. He turned and walked out of his garden and he took a nap.


	3. Chapter 3

**Sol 63**

Smokescreen watched his little indoor garden. Little shoots of green were greeting him. The machine in the middle of the room puffed a little, and water on the sides of the tarps dripped down and moistened the soil even more. He smiled at his work, and patted himself on the back for a job well done.

"At this rate," he told his laptop, "I'll have enough food for another two hundred sols. That's right. I'll be self-sustaining. Yippee for me, King of Mars. Call me the Martian King. Bow down to my amazingness..." He was playing with Prime's bear. It was slowly losing its scent of Prime in favor of his scent. He tilted his head and sighed. "It's just really lonely now that it's just me and Prime's bear I've fondly called Wilson."

He looked at the camera, threw the bear behind him (it plopped lightly onto the opposite counter, laying on its back next to a notebook), and he tipped his head back, wailing.

 _WILLLLSSSSSOOOOONNN!_

 **ooo**

Optimus gripped the edge of Arcee's chair as she and Ratchet played Scrabble together. Bumblebee was busy staring out into space, literally. If he was any closer to the viewport, Optimus would be concerned that he and the material would fuse. Ultra Magnus lifted weights with his one hand, working his stump with an ankle weight secured to his wrist. He kept tying more ankle weights to it to match the strain on his other arm. Optimus sat across from him and set his elbow square on the table, offering his hand in an arm wrestle. Magnus watched him for a moment before he took off the weights and he pressed his stump into Optimus' hand.

"Take it easy on the cripple."

"Funny, I was about to ask for mercy." Optimus smiled, but no teeth flashed. Ultra Magnus tilted his head and tested the Prime, pushing into his hand. The mech didn't even flinch. He smirked and thought this an easy victory, one not even requiring his full strength.

He should have known better.

The fight lasted for three minutes before the Scrabble and space-gazing were abandoned and the others collected around, cheering for either their leader or their SIC.

Ultra Magnus bared his teeth in frustration. Optimus, it seemed, spent just about as much time as he did lifting weights, though he barely saw the mech in the gym. "What are you doing for exercize, baby brother?"

Optimus smirked, looking at ease though sweat had collected in beads on his forehead and in his palm. Ultra Magnus was glad his hand wasn't sweating. He chuckled inwardly at the thought, looking at what remained of his arm. "I am doing the same thing you do."

"Whimpering in my bunk?"

The Prime grunted and pushed a little harder at the mech's arm. Ultra Magnus gave him the same treatment. "Something like that," he growled.

Muscles strained and burned. Optimus considered giving up, but he knew he had more endurance than his older sibling. He watched Ultra Magnus' eyes for a tell that the mech was going to spend his energy, a tell signalling that Optimus was as good as dead at his game unless he could spot it. But Ultra Magnus' steely gaze gave nothing away, and Optimus was distracted enough that the mech overpowered.

He got up from the table, laughing as he rubbed his hand. "You have gotten stronger."

Ultra Magnus got up and pressed his stump back into his brother's hand, letting the mech shake it twice before he pulled away. "And so have you."

A bleep from the main computer drew Arcee away and she tapped at the keys. "Incoming trans from the big boys with a question for Prime. Did you not report a move for the Rover?"

"I report every movement I make." Optimus walked to her, moving to stand behind her and read over her shoulder. "Why?"

"Because in the satellite pictures from sol eighteen to sol nineteen, it's been moved." She frowned, flipping between the two pictures. "Ultra Magnus, did you move it?"

"I was the one who charged it." Ultra Magnus leaned forward and squinted. "The panels have been cleaned off, too."

"Oh, yeah...that doesn't happen in a storm." Arcee smiled weakly. "I remember Smokescreen and I would draw straws for who would have to clean the panels...it was always him..."

Optimus stiffened. "Wait...Smokescreen always cleaned the panels?"

"Every day."

He ran his hands through his hair. "He's alive!?"

Arcee keyed in the question, phrasing it in an intelligent way that Optimus would have forgotten to in his glee. She shook her helm when she got the response back twelve minutes later. "No. They've gotten no sign that he's alive."

Ultra Magnus pointed at the screen. "They're...hiding something...from us." He whimpered lightly, then growled. "Ask them if they're lying!"

"I'm not going to point fingers..." Arcee turned off the main computer, getting up. "Excuse me while I jog...it's probably nothing. I think I may have moved the Rover." She sighed. "It was done charging and I heard that leaving things on a charger kills the battery...so, I think I moved it." She shrugged her shoulders. "Sorry." Before anyone could protest or question her, she walked off.

Ratchet leaned back in his chair, growling. "I don't like this," he muttered. He hissed.

 **ooo**

 **Sol 64**

"Ladies and germs, I give you the least screaming-song Arcee has." He tapped a button and Of These Chains started playing. "There's more, but this one gets me going. I like this. Hymn For the Missing is a good one, too, and Pieces, but Of These Chains is..." He put a hand over his heart and pretended to swoon, gripping the counter for support in case he fell over. "Love it."

He went back to sorting through the marshmallow chicks, biting their heads off. Wilson was propped up against a water bottle. "So, my potatoes are doing well. They've sprouted and I'm really enjoying this farming thing. Maybe I _can_ grow Jelly Bellies, but I don't want to risk it. I like the popcorn-flavored ones too much to get rid of them." He turned the page of a book he had taken from the library. He read a paragraph, then closed it. "So I've sorted through all my friends' things from photos to laptops. Seriously, guys. Is Arcee the only one with a life? No one has more personal objects and things and stuff than she does. And Ultra Magnus has six pairs of ankle weights. What is he? A spider?" He stopped. "Okay, a spider would only need four pairs, but still. Maggy, where you hiding those other legs, man?"

He stopped talking long enough to look into the camera and his smile faded. "I really miss you guys..."

 **Sol 70**

Smokescreen laid in the bunk on his back, staring up at the bunk above him. He was thinking about the remedy he had for the chilliness in the Rover. Would it work? Eh. What the frag. It wasn't like he was doing okay as it was.

 **Sol 71**

He drove out to the sight with the flag sticking out of the ground, the area that people had told him every day to avoid, the area Ultra Magnus patrolled in case someone was stupid enough to wander over and "accidentally" dig up the machine there.

He stared at the flag and spoke to himself. "Smokescreen, by removing this flag and digging under it, you confirm to yourself, your friends, and the others that you are a moron."

He pulled the flag up and threw it behind him. He then dug in the dirt, exposing a large cylinder-thing that radiated heat. Ratchet had a fancy-shmancy word for it, and it was probably buried in his sketchbook, but Smokescreen knew that it was radiating heat because it was decomposing or rotting or something. Anyway, heat. And he had it.

"And now to apply the finishing touches," he said to no one. He duct taped a thin gold material around it, then stuck it behind his seat in the Rover. He strapped it in and shut the door. The result was instant.

"I'm sweating like a hog!" He pulled off his suit and helmet once the interior was stable. He laughed. "Am I a little worried that there's a radioactive _thing_ behind me that could break even the slightest and therefore kill me?"

He hesitated. "Well, duh, but at least I'm warm. Besides, you gotta live a little. Loosen up and embrace death like a friend. Maybe it'll freak out and leave me alone." He thought a bit. "So, heat source secured, I can now drive at night. I just have to find out how to increase my battery life so I can drive further longer. You know? Maybe there's some other buried treasure out there."

He chuckled as he bounced over the hills and dips. "Smokescreen, space pirate. I like the sound of that."

 **Sol 99**

"Check it out, I have a little baby potato!" Smokescreen held up the smallest potato for the laptop's camera to see. "Now, I know what you're thinking. 'Smokescreen, what happened to the rest of it?' Well, I have news for you!" He turned around and grabbed the large tub of potatoes he had finished harvesting. "Tada! I have enough food for six hundred sols! And after the others grow, I'll have enough for twelve hundred sols! Botany for the win!" He set the tub aside and set his hands down on the table. "Now, I've figured something out. There's a satellite orbiting me, okay? Orbitting the entire planet, taking pictures every so often and sending them back to NASA. They know I'm alive, or should. I mean, the Rover just doesn't take herself out for a walk, and they should be wondering why Rover is shooting around all the time..."

He had been going at living for a while, and so far everything was going good. He checked his notes and he grinned a little bigger. "There's this thing, buried in the desert, that can transmit pictures to NASA. They have a twin, and once they figure out where I'm going, they should know what I'm trying to do. Now, the only trouble is that we'll be reduced to yes or no questions, which sucks, and there's no way I can squish the English language into a line in front of the camera, I'd never know what they were point at...unless, I had one of these...things. There's a lot I don't know, so don't hate me. It's basically a circle and different symbols meaning different things, and it's a code, so I can figure out what they are sending to me. It's the easiest way, I'm thinking." He held up the paper he found in Bumblebee's tub of personals. "So let's give it a whirl."


	4. Chapter 4

**Sol 121**

The device was a camera, sent years ago to look around and send pictures back. Every day since he found it, Smokescreen sent pictures of himself, of his potatoes, of messages he wrote down on pieces of paper and staked into the ground. Nothing.

But when he walked out in the morning, he stopped. The camera was facing a different direction, focusing instead on an answer to the question _Can you see me?_ staked in front of it. Smokescreen followed its gaze and gave a shout.

It had indicated _yes_.

Gone were the three stakes and Smokescreen stuck the alphabet-circle into place. He taped a rod to the side of the camera to indicate which stake it was pointing at, and then he stepped back.

"Please let this work."

 **ooo**

"So, I'm the smartest man on Mars. I have direct contact with NASA, and they've given me this code that I can program into the Rover so she can transmit actual messages back and forth using her fancy keyboard and little screen. It'll be like a chatroom, I guess, but I'll be talking to NASA and report on my progress, because they're really interested in how I've managed to live this long via my own crap, so..." Smokescreen paused in his typing of the codes to look at the camera. "Drum roll, please." He tapped ENTER with his pinky and smiled when the screen changed. A cursor blinked in a box at the bottom, a wide open space waiting to display messages to and from above it. He tapped in his message:

 _Houston, respond. This is Captain Smokescreen of SS Misery. Over._

He leaned back in his chair, mumbling to himself. "If this doesn't work, Imma be a very upset captain."

But there was a change in the screen. Under his message, there was a reply.

 _Hello, Smokescreen. It is very nice to finally hear from you. After all this time, we have presumed you dead, and then weird things started showing up on the satellite scans. We second guessed ourselves and the reports we got from your team, but after your latest retrieval, we cheered for the impossible was possible. Please, inform us of your success and do not leave out any details._

Smokescreen did a little dance and he rapidly typed out his response.

 _Like the only genius on this planet would, I discovered that I could farm in my own waste using individually wrapped crap (thanks for that, NASA. You rule), Martian soil, and a few raw potatoes I discovered. I made water through one of my friend's experiments (tell him it worked), and now I'm farming potatoes. I am very pleased with the results. I use the largest potatoes to eat and I cut up the littler ones to recycle them. At this rate, I will have enough food...for as long as you need me to stay here. Of course, I wouldn't have needed to except shoddy construction resulted in a dish hitting me and rendering my bio trans useless, so my team thought I was dead. Oh, and before I forget, please, inform_ _ **me**_ _of my team._

 _That is very interesting, Smokescreen. We congratulate you on your resourcefulness. Ah, we have gotten a message an hour ago from the team. They report nothing but positives, but it is clear they are missing you. Ultra Magnus reports the unnatural glumness of the base. Not even Bumblebee smiles as much._

 _How'd they react to finding out I was alive? I bet Maggy was surprised._

The twenty minute silence made Smokescreen twitchy. His smile slowly lapsed into a frown. And then the message came: _We have not informed your team of your survival. They must focus soley on their mission to return to Earth._

Smokescreen stared at the first sentence, betrayal in his heart. His lips curled over his teeth in a snarl and he typed faster: _You don't think my fragging team should know I'm alive? What does NASA employ now? Monkeys? Or the slag that comes out of their afts? I knew NASA to be a lot of things, but incompetent is an adjective I had not bothered thinking until this moment._

The reply was quickly sent this time and it made Smokescreen grin: _Please, Smokescreen. Calm down. Everything you type is being transmitted all around the world._

"Oh yeah?" He resumed typing.

 **ooo**

"So after I insulted NASA some more and probably shocked the world about an experiment in which Arcee was fed hormones through her meals they gave her in the hopes that the rest of us would 'get it on'," he said, demonstrating the motion of _getting it on_ by turning one hand under the other as if opening a pickle jar upside down and holding "the jar" with the other hand by the bottom and then proceeding to slap the holding hand with the screwing hand twice, "NASA shut the chatroom down. They're probably calming everyone down, making a lot of excuses and calls..." He snorted. "Like I would make stuff like that up. I could have said a lot worse, like the reason I'm up here and not some human is because after the Battle of Chicago, Cybertronians became cannon fodder. Wanna test for radiation? Tell Prime it's his duty. Wanna try this new drug on him instead of a rabid dog that bit two kids and ate an infant and is going to be put down anyway? Tell Prime it's his duty. Want to investigate Mars?" He shrugged a little. "It's our duty..." He drew his potatoes out of the microwave and he drowned them in ketchup. "But, I hope this gets results. My team deserves to know...everything."

He bit into a potato. "She doesn't even know she was given hormones in the first place. Good news is, she jogs when she's feeling antsy or upset, and at the time, no one was keen on fragging her while running on the treadmill." He chuckled a little and picked up Wilson by his back paw, swinging him as he walked to the table and he sat down to eat, sighing a little. "I just.." He held Wilson in front of his face and kissed his button nose. "I miss them..."

 **ooo**

"I miss Smokie," Arcee huffed. She set the treadmill the fastest it would go. Optimus was watching her, hand holding up his face. He blinked saddened blue eyes at her and he pushed away from the treadmill. "I mean, he was a brat and we called him Destiny's Child any chance we could get, but he was...I dunno, lively..." She turned off the treadmill and stepped down, rubbing at her face. "And we don't have that anymore."


	5. Chapter 5

**Sol 309**

Smokescreen farmed like he always did, harvesting his potatoes and planting more. He scratched at his jaw that had decided to grow a beard. His hair had gotten longer, too, and it took time to brush out. He didn't envy Arcee one bit, whose hair was longer and thicker, and now he knew how she felt.

As he passed the laptop, he tapped play, and RED filtered through the speakers. He sighed, humming along as he put a new mark on a notebook he constructed, marking how many days he had been separated from his team...

Time to walk outside, he thought. He suited up, strapping down his helmet and adjusting his suit. He went to open the door, but he hadn't noticed that the place wasn't fully prepared to endure Mars' pressure, and he had a moment of oops before the whole place burst open.

 **ooo**

Smokescreen stared down at the plants. They were frozen. Dead. His only hope of surviving was gone, and he didn't know when NASA was going to come and get him. His shoulders dropped and he pulled out duct tape and a thick tarp. He secured it over the burst opening with the duct tape after cleaning out his greenroom, and then he corrected his mistake, stabilizing the place and then replacing the oxygen. But before he could go back and weep into Wilson, he had to inform NASA on recent developments..

 **ooo**

 _Smokescreen. We are sorry to hear what had happened to the greenroom. But due to your story, NASA has been moved into action and we are trying to bring you home. The public is willing to help as well. Unfortunately, we had attempted to surprise you one hundred sols ago with a ride home funded by China, but our excitement led to less security checks and the ship along with thousands of dollars of supplies exploded before ever reaching you. We were too ashamed to contact you about the failure, and so we have been quiet with you. However, we have spoken to your team about your survival, and they are determined to turn around and help you, adding two hundred sols onto their journey. They have already turned around. They are most grateful for our information. In fact, if you look, you will see another chatroom has opened up. You and your team can talk now. Enjoy._

Smokescreen sat back as he processed this. He was heading home. He only had one hundred sols worth of food left. He was determined to cut back on how much he was eating now that he knew help was on the way. Thank Primus for that. Sitting forward, he decided to test out the chatroom with his friends...

Bumblebee had already sent a message.

 **ooo**

 _Smokescreen. NASA has finally opened up communications with you. About time, right? Let me inform you on the current state of things: It's quieter, there's more room to move around, and no one complains much. In fact, we hardly missed you at all. Ultra Magnus has smiled more, even cracked a few jokes. The only downside is that we have to pick up your chores now, but it's just botany. It's not real science. Try navigating through space for once, see how fun it is...anyway, the others truly miss you. Arcee spends most of her time working out. Optimus hardly eats. Magnus just sits in utter silence. Ratchet wanders around for the most part. Sometimes, I don't even think he knows he's wandering. He just does. As for me? I sit in my bunk, paging through your diary. Sometimes I wonder_ how have I never done this before? _but most of the time I wonder if there will be a day that you march up to me and hit me right in the face for reading your most personal entries and sharing them with the deaf ears of the crew. Talk to you soon, buddy. -Bee_

Smokescreen smirked and he looked down at the keys before he rested his fingers on them. Then he started typing.

 _Bumblebee: Life on Mars is also quiet. I don't have responsibilities, I don't have to listen to Optimus nag me about how dirt isn't as important as whatever he does, and sometimes I go out on the hills to watch the sun rise just because I can. But I'm not saying I don't have more fun than that. Recently, I've blown up the base like an idiot and now have limited myself to less than two hundred sols worth of food, and because I've depended soley on my greenroom of crap and Mars dirt, I've pigged out. My body will hate me for this, but I must begin to fast so I can both conserve food and fit into my clothes once again. Lately I've been dressing in garbage bags and Martian ferns like Adam in the Garden of Eden. I'm waiting for the serpent to show me trees of forbidden fruit so I can eat the whole tree, bark and leaves included. I've also been snuggling with Wilson, Optimus' teddy bear I found on his bunk. He has been well-taken care of and he is my first mate on SS Misery. I am Captain Blond Beard, and Wilson is First Mate Wilson, or FMW. You guys can be my crew and we can be space pirates. Magnus will have to invest in a hook, though...anyway, to conclude: Smokescreen is an idiot and I miss you very much. -CBB_

 **ooo**

Bumblebee read Smokescreen's message aloud, looking around at the others as he read. Ratchet had his back to him, his head lowered. Optimus sat in a chair, studying the table. Arcee was doing crunches, already on _one hundred and fifty-two, one hundred and fifty-three..._ Magnus was the only one whose attention was devoted to the screen. A small smile tugged on his lips.

Time was running out. Soon they, Optimus and the others, would have to go to bed as the computer and all the other electronics would power down to conserve energy. So Bumblebee quickly tapped out a response and sent it before the lights started humming as they powered down.

 _We miss you too, buddy. Good night._


End file.
